


Restoring the Balance of Nature

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Intoxication, Jealous Arthur, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining Arthur, Quiz Night, Reunions, Shirtless Knights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6810463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur’s team, the conQuiztadors, are determined to retain their title as champions of the Camelot Round Table quiz. Apart from anything else, it will earn them bragging rights over their arch-rivals, Morgana’s evil ExQuizitors. But Morgana has a secret weapon up her sleeve, in the shape of a new team member called Merlin. And when it turns out that Arthur has met him before, buried memories resurface. With knobs on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restoring the Balance of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> With all my thanks to my amazing beta reader, archaeologist_d, for her wisdom. What would I do without you to tame the whimsical plot beasts of hell? And to the ever lovely NeuroticNick for being a sounding board when I really needed one. 
> 
> Any mistakes or ridiculousnesses that remain are all mine. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Not my characters, I’m not getting paid.

The landlord of a scruffy pub needs talent. Luckily, the Rising Sun's landlords had talent aplenty. Not to mention persistence, and when required, a trio of very fierce alsatians, known collectively as Cerberus, but individually as Mitsy, Daphne, and Lulu. The beer was good, the cider was potent, and Gaius, and his partner, Geoffrey, together with their menagerie, which also included a pair of macaws, and five cats, provided a warm welcome, plus a reasonably priced Cheddar Ploughmans. And free bar snacks on Fridays.

Tonight, however, tensions in this normally relaxed establishment ran high. The public bar, lounge bar, and snug fell silent in anticipation when Gaius raised an eyebrow. For tonight was the culmination of a whole year’s planning and machinations, the pinnacle of the Camelot social calendar. Yes, tonight was the night of the annual Round Table Quiz. And anybody who was anybody in Camelot had paid to have a table.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said Gaius, tapping the microphone so that feedback from the speakers made everyone wince. “Ahem. Can you all hear me?”

“Yes!” chorused the already well-oiled punters. “No!” shouted a few. There were always a few.

“Then I shall begin,” said Gaius, slightly louder. “Welcome to the fifteenth annual Round Table Quiz. This year, the reigning champions, the ConQuiztadors, led by team captain, Arthur Pendragon…”

Loud cheers from a table in the corner were rapidly shushed.

“...As I was saying until I was so rudely interrupted.” Gaius frowned at the exuberant team, who wilted under his glare. “Last year’s winning team will provide fish and chips at half time. Last year’s runners up, the ExQuizitors, led by Morgana Pendragon.…” more cheers and wolf whistles, this time from the large table that dominated the tiny room known as the snug. “All right, all right. Shush, you lot, or we’ll never get started! They have provided cake. Don’t forget to put your team names at the top of your answer sheets. Each team has one Joker. You can play your Joker any time to double the score from any individual round. And so, if you have all charged your glasses, let us start the first round.”

*

“So. Listen in, team.” Leaning forward, Arthur signalled to the rest of his men to do the same. “Remember, it’s all about beating the ExQuizitors.”

“We knew that!” Elyan rolled his eyes. “Especially with both our sisters in the team. Who else have they got this year? Gwen wouldn't say.”

“The usual crowd. Morgana, of course. She’s their all rounder.” Arthur ticked the names off his fingers. “Gwen. Literature and arts. Sophia - she’s hot on popular culture, reality shows, you know. Mithian, for science and nature. Elena, watch out for her in the sports round. That’s it, I think?” He took a swig of his beer, swirling it round his mouth to savour the bitter, malty flavours.

“Nope," said Lance, shaking his head. "There's a new guy. They’ve brought in a ringer, unfortunately.”

“Ringer?” said Elyan, craning his neck to see Morgana’s table, around the corner in the snug.

“Yeah,” said Lance, with an apologetic shrug. “You know. An imposter. One with skills, unfortunately. Top bloke, too. Friend of Gwen’s from school.” Although they’d all attended local schools, except Elyan, Gwen was the only one who’d been at the state-run comprehensive. Not that you’d know; she’d got the best degree out of them all—and by far the best job.

“Oh, I see,” said Arthur. “Local boy, then. Is he any good?”

“‘Fraid so,” said Lance. “Was on University Challenge, apparently. Got through to the quarter finals. He's that good. Too bad she persuaded him to join her team."

Arthur whistled through his teeth. Morgana had kept that quiet, the harpy. He took another satisfying glug of ale to quell his anxiety.

"He’s bloody smart," Lance carried on. "Doing a Ph.D. and everything. Name’s Merlin Emrys.”

What? Arthur nearly spat out his mouthful of beer. He clamped his hand to his mouth to stop it spraying everywhere, so it went up his nose, making his eyes water. Coughing and spluttering into his fingers, he craned his neck to peer round the doorframe. Sure enough, a slim, dark-haired bloke, perched on a stool, was chatting animatedly to Gwen and Sophia.

Fuck. It was him. Merlin “Cheekbones” Emrys.

At that moment, Cheekbones looked over at their table. When he saw Arthur, the wattage of his smile dimmed.

“All right, Princess?” Gwaine thumped his back, in mock sympathy, which didn’t really help.

“Don’t mind me.” Turning back to his table abruptly, Arthur wiped his still-watering eyes with the backs of his hands. Come on Arthur. No time for regrets, now. “Asthma.” He wheezed, fishing in his pocket for his inhaler, which he produced as evidence.

Luckily, the rest of them were still talking about the ringer.

“This Merlin,” said Leon, worrying at his lip. “Do you know him, El?”

“Nah! I didn’t go to school round here, remember?” Elyan frowned at his empty pint glass. “Hey, Gwaine, it’s your round.”

“I know him.” Arthur cleared his throat, adding more clearly, “Knew. Knew him. I—erm. You know. Morgana and I— well, I met him on that joint school Geography field trip to Derbyshire in year 13—”

“Oh yeah,” interrupted Gwaine, his face transformed by a sly grin. “I remember. Wasn’t that the field trip where you met some twink or another. Doing your bit for relations between state and independent schools, arf, arf. Eh, eh?” He elbowed Arthur in the ribs. “You sly old fox. You came back with a big grin and without your vir—”

“Shut up, Gwaine. That’s irrelevant,” said Arthur, hastily. “The important thing is that Lance is right. He’s a smart kid. He’ll be too bloody good. We need to take him down.”

Gaius chose that moment to ring the bell.

“One more minute to fill your glasses before round two!” he yelled.

“So what shall we do?” said Leon. “Morgana can’t win! You don’t understand!” He sounded a bit hysterical.

“Don’t worry!” said Arthur, a plan crystallising in his mind. “As I remember, Chee—ahem! Merlin has no head for liquor. Ply him with alcohol, and we might stand a chance. Before the dingbats round. I bet he’s brilliant at dingbats. He’s got that sort of warped… er… Look. I’ll get him a pint or two of Gaius’s Old Dragontamer in the interval. That should get rid of his edge.”

“He’s all grown up now, though, isn’t he?” Gwaine was staring at Cheekbones, who looked up again, this time with a questioning expression, no doubt wondering what all the attention was about. With an appreciative wink, Gwaine took a long swig of his pint, dashing the glass back down to the table with gusto, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Might take more than a pint or two to get him in bed now, Princess.” He belched lewdly.

“Gwaine.” Arthur rolled his eyes, hoping the dim light from the pub would hide the way his cheeks flared. “That’s not what I meant at all, and you know it.”

“Hah!” said Gwaine, conveying disbelief and grudging admiration with one short syllable. “Well, if you’re not interested, then I might give him a crack myself.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Grinding his teeth, Arthur glowered at his pint. That wasn’t what he’d meant either. “Haven’t you grown out of thinking with your cock, yet, Gwaine?”

Chatting animatedly to Gwen, Merlin chose that moment to stand up and stretch, lifting shoulders that were wider than Arthur remembered, and a chest that was rather better defined. The movement tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans to reveal taut, well-honed abs and a delicious trail of dark hairs.

Arthur forgot his train of thought for a moment.

“Right!” said Gaius, tapping the mic so that a loud boom rang out round the pub. “Time for round two. Sport!”

Dragging his gaze back to his team-mates, Arthur found himself at the centre of attention.

“So. It’s like that, is it?” said Leon, softly.

“Definitely not.” Arthur frowned. “Definitely, definitely, definitely not.”

It definitely wasn’t like that at all. No.

*

Between rounds two and three, Arthur got up to go to the loo, and was somewhat taken aback to be sharing close quarters with Cheekbones himself. Awkward. He took great care at the urinals not to glance down at Merlin’s still gorgeous cock, not even out of the corner of his eye, dear me, no, dark and enticing as it was, jutting out from the top of Merlin’s open fly. Arthur instead gazed determinedly at the ceiling. Really. Luckily there was some extremely raunchy graffiti just above eye level, so there was a good excuse for staring up while he fumbled with his own trouser fastening.

“Well if it isn't Superglutes,” said Merlin. “Long time no see.”

Arthur didn’t know how did it, but Merlin managed to make his voice sound like it was smiling. Merlin was a genius in the smiling department, as Arthur well remembered, even though it had been, what, five years? Six?

At the sound of a zip fastening, Arthur let out a relieved exhale.

“Cheekbones, good to see you again,” said Arthur, still staring at the ceiling as he willed his button to respond to his fumbling fingers. “Didn’t know you were around.”

“Funny, that,” said Merlin. Water glugged into the wash-basin, accompanied by vigorous splashing noises. "Seeing as how you haven't been in touch. At all."

“Ah.” Arthur winced at the implied criticism. "Well. I suppose I deserved that."

“No, it’s all right.” The smile had left Merlin’s voice, now. Arthur mourned it. “I know Gwen, you see, and she filled me in on… I mean, it’s not like I don’t hear anything. I’m… I heard about your father. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Arthur.

“And congratulations on getting a First,” Merlin added.

“Thanks.” Arthur willed his piss to stop, so he could escape, but three pints of Gaius’s finest had filled his bladder good and proper.

“It’s not like I was pining away or anything.” Merlin tugged noisily at the hand towels. “It’s just… it would have been nice to hear from you, that’s all. After all, we did restore the balance of nature together. I mean, I thought… anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“I. Um.” How could Arthur explain? Anything would be either too much or too little. “I don’t know what to say.”

“ _Sorry_ would have been nice,” said Merlin.

"Look, Merlin, I— "

But the door slammed closed before Arthur even finished pissing.

It was going to be that sort of evening. He could tell.

*

“All right everyone, time for a break for drinks,” said Gaius. “The fish and chips will be delivered shortly. Round 5 will start at 9 o’ clock sharp.” He put the mic down and shuffled off, with three excitable dogs weaving intricate patterns in his wake.

But it didn’t help Arthur’s temper when he got to the bar, and discovered that he’d been beaten to it by Gwaine, who already stood there, one foot on the rail, waving a tenner at the barkeep and leering at Merlin.

“... pulled his top hat out of a bunny! Geddit?” Gwaine went off into peals of unnecessary laughter. Arthur couldn’t help noticing the over-familiar way that Gwaine’s free hand rested on Merlin’s arm.

“Oh God, that’s terrible!” said Merlin. But that didn’t stop him laughing along, however, eyes retreating into a mess of crinkles that Arthur didn’t find completely captivating. At all.

“Yeah sorry. Let me make it up to you. Your mouth looks dry. Fancy a pint?” Gwaine said, tilting his head on one side and looking at Merlin’s lips.

Merlin gazed at him with an expression that seemed unnecessarily rapt, and eyes that shone with disproportionate admiration. As if Gwaine needed any encouragement, and anyway, it had been Arthur’s idea first, and therefore he should be the one who was buying Merlin a drink. Definitely not Gwaine. Definitely not.

“That’d be grand, thanks,” said Merlin, tilting his own head to mirror Gwaine’s stance.

“I’ll get these,” said Arthur, pushing abruptly between them so that Gwaine had to drop his hand. “For old time’s sake. It’s great to have you back in town, Merlin. And I’m sorry if I was a bit… erm. I mean, earlier. Also, you know. Sorry about the whole Geography thing. Water under the bridge, eh?”

“Was that an apology?” said Merlin, mouth quirking up at the corner. A dimple appeared, and as abruptly disappeared at one corner of his lips. “In that case, I accept.”

“Thanks, Princess!” said Gwaine, grinning. “As it’s you, I’ll have a double scotch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur greeted this statement with all the icy disdain it merited. “We all know what happened last time you were on the scotch. We’ve got a job to do, Gwaine, and I don’t fancy spending my evening in A & E, dripping wet, after fishing you out of the canal. Again. You’ll have a pint of Best, and like it.”

“All right, all right!” said Gwaine. “To compromise, I’ll have a single. With a splash of water. And talking of water, what’s this about it going under the bridge? And what Geography thing?”

“Nothing important,” said Merlin.

“None of your business,” said Arthur at the same time.

“We’ll see about that,” Gwaine said, with a leer and a a good-natured, though poorly-aimed, punch to the shoulder that made Arthur wince. He squirreled his ten pound note away with a flourish. “Don’t let old Frowny McFrownface here bore you to death, Merlin. Hey, by the way, did you know the origin of the word “quizzical”? It’s derived from Gaius’s eyebrows. Quizzical! Gaius! Badum-CHING!” He motioned with his hands, as if playing an imaginary drum kit. “Geddit?”

To top off his punchline, Gwaine laughed again at his own, extremely unfunny joke. And really, the way that Merlin doubled over, chortling, and choking out “Frowny McFrownface, oh my god,” repeatedly, was totally excessive.

“Heavens, spare us.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, Princess.” Gwaine sobered for a brief moment, before breaking into a shit-eating grin. “I’ll leave you to your sense of humour failure, then. Fancy a pickled egg with that? No, wait, you look like you’ve eaten one already! Or wait, did it go in the other end?”

“GWAINE!” Arthur ground his teeth together, but the blasted insolent Irishman had already turned his back.

“It was quite witty, you know.” Merlin trained sympathetic eyes on him. “Totally ridiculous, but quite funny. And you did look a bit like you’d swallowed a—”

“Well, thanks a bunch.” Only slightly mollified by the warmth of Merlin’s expression, Arthur raised a hand to Freya, who was waiting for their order. “Two pints of Best, please! And a single whiskey. With a splash of water.”

“Thanks.” said Merlin.

“Least I could do,” said Arthur. “Look, I really am sorry. About the whole radio silence thing. I know I… well. It’s just—my father found my phone. And… that’s when things went to shit for a while. And then, by the time I was…” And that’s when Merlin’s earlier statement finally hit him. He swallowed and looked away. What was the point? “But wait. did you mean what you said? Earlier, I mean. That it was not important?”

Something nudged at Arthur’s leg, and he looked down. Merlin’s foot.

“That depends,” said Merlin, softly, his shoulder warm where it nudged up against Arthur’s. “But, no. If you must ask. It was important to me. For my part. I wasn’t sure about you.”

Their eyes met briefly.

“It was for me, as well.” said Arthur, eventually, looking down and addressing the beer towel.

“There you go, gents,” said Freya, making him jump. “Twelve sixty, please.”

“How much?” said Arthur in mock outrage, grateful for the excuse to defuse the tension. “Bloody Gwaine! That’ll be the whisky!”

“Ha! Well, at least he kept his shirt on,” said Merlin, tilting his head so that the light from behind the bar made his eyes sparkle

“Right. Well. Aha! Ahem.” It wouldn’t do to dwell on that whole sparkly-eyed thing, so Arthur looked away, casting about for things to say while he dug in his pocket for a twenty pound note. “Well! I see you have met Gwaine before! That man seems to think that shirts are optional. Quite often Leon runs a sweepstake on what time the thing is going to come off.” He was on firmer ground here, moaning about Gwaine, instead of dwelling on eyes and the sparkling thereof, not to mention tricky memories involving Geography field trips and dorms and the like. “Bloody exhibitionist!”

“Yep! I have met him before, actually. When I came to visit Morgana at uni.” Merlin coughed. “Of course, I had kind of hoped… anyway. Thanks for the beer, Arthur.” Merlin grasped his upper arm, and gave it a gentle squeeze that Arthur couldn’t help hoping was conciliatory. “And… and for the apology! I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Arthur said, smiling. The sudden warmth of Merlin’s hand pressed to his shoulder, coupled with the dazzling sincerity of Merlin’s smile, struck him dumb for a second, and he clean forgot what he’d been saying.

“It doesn’t mean we’re not going to win, though,” added Merlin, arching an eyebrow that would have made Gaius proud. He picked up his beer and started walking back towards Morgana’s table.

“You can go off people, you know!” Arthur yelled at his retreating back, definitely not checking out the way that Merlin’s arse flexed in those well-fitting jeans. “Cheeky sod!”

“See ya later, Frowny!” Merlin's soft chuckle was almost lost in the hub-bub.

*

The pervasive odour of vinegary chips was fading away, and another foaming pint stood in front of Arthur. It was time for the second half of the quiz. The ConQuiztadors were two points behind the ExQuizitors, and had already played their Joker. Things were not looking good.

Morgana could not be allowed to win. She could not. Just the thought of all the crowing and patronising barbs that would ensue if she won this year made Arthur feel physically ill. And he knew, oh yes, he knew all right, that she would be merciless. After all, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t dished it out to her after his own victory. And boy was he regretting that now, because she was bound to reciprocate. Damn.

Cursing himself for being so thorough with the pitying glances and quips that he’d subjected Morgana to for the last year, Arthur silently vowed to whichever invisible deity was listening that he would be a better person if, by some miracle, the ConQuiztadors could claw back a few points and overtake their rivals. Never again would he deliberately leave the tops off Morgana’s expensive black nail-varnish pots. He would even make her tea every day, and put the requisite amount of sugar in, without, and this was the important bit, without making any sarcastic comments about her needing it to sweeten her temper. Please. Just, please. Don’t. Let. Her. Win.

“The next round will be on magic!” announced Gaius. “Pencils at the ready!”

“JOKER!” screamed Morgana, raising her hand.

Groaning, Arthur exchanged a resigned look with his team-mates. Clearly the pub quiz deities were not on his side tonight.

“Think I’m going to need another whisky,” said Gwaine.

“Think I might join you,” said Arthur, morosely.

*

“In the famous Harry Potter books, which creepy crawly was Ronald Weasley afraid of?” Gaius peered at the pub’s occupants over the top of his reading glasses.

Oh, God. He couldn’t help exchanging a glance with Merlin, who was staring directly at him and smirking. Sabotage!

Because there was no way that Merlin wasn’t thinking about that night in the boys dorms on that fateful field trip, when Arthur rescued a huge spider from the bath, with some quip about the balance of nature being restored. Merlin insisted that Arthur’s actions made him the Hermione to Merlin’s Ron, and Arthur of course protested that he wasn’t a girl, Merlin, honestly. In his eagerness to prove the truth of the matter, one thing led quite brilliantly to another. And although it was years ago, he could still feel his underwear tightening at the memory. Which was just rude.

“Spiders,” he croaked out, leaning forward to check Gwaine’s answer. He glanced back up at Merlin again. Completely by accident, of course. Which was a mistake, because Merlin, who was still staring at him, dipped his eyes as far as Arthur’s lips, and then lower, right in front of everyone, the little git, and let his gaze travel appreciatively back up Arthur’s face, before moistening his own lips with his tongue and waggling his eyebrows in a thoroughly suggestive way.

Confused, Arthur broke eye contact to take a long slurp of his beer, and missed the next question altogether.

The next time he looked up, it was Morgana’s smirk that he saw. If she was a cat, she’d have been purring right now.

“Sabotage, dammit,” he muttered darkly into his pint.

*

“Five minutes til the final round,” said Gaius, fumbling with the mic. The speakers screeched with feedback, and everyone winced. “Whoops!”

“Hell’s bells!” groaned Leon. “We’re ten points behind! Morgana’s going to be insufferable.”

“Team huddle.” Arthur “Never Say Die” Pendragon leaned forward and beckoned to his men. They crowded around him, heads together as if bowed in thought, arms round each other.

“Never,” he began, speech only slightly slurred. “Never in the field of human conflict, have so many been wossname. Now is the time for all good men, etcetera. Come on team. Let’s blow those imposters out of the water.” Extracting his arm from the huddle, he made a gun shape with his hand. “Peow. Peow.”

“We can do this,” said Elyan, extricating himself to put one hand into the middle. “God. Gwen would be horrendous if they won. Can you imagine? I can’t bear the thought of the pitying looks. We’ve got to do this!”

“Oh God, yeah!” said Lancelot, placing his hand on top of Elyan’s. “It’s all right for you, El. I’ve got to live with her! Can you imagine the sympathetic glances? The pitying looks? It’ll be horrible!”

The five of them made a silent stack of hands and exchanged stern expressions. This was serious business, now.

“Right, then. Shirts off?” said Gwaine.

“No!” Arthur, Leon, and Lancelot said in unison.

“Yes!” said Elyan, enthusiastically.

Gwaine lowered his brows and gave them all a suspicious stare.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” they chorused, chuckling into their pint pots.

But Gwaine didn’t take his shirt off, and that, as far as Arthur was concerned, was the main thing. A bullet dodged, etcetera.

*

“All right, you ‘orrible lot.” Gaius’s glare was slightly offset by the way that he was swaying. He’d been at the cider, again, evidently. “To make things interesting, in this round all the answers count five points. But if you answer even one question incorrectly, you zero the score from the round. Do I make myself completely clear?”

Everyone nodded. They’d been to one of Gaius’s quizzes before. No-one wanted to gainsay the eyebrow of doom by causing trouble.

“Good,” said Gaius. “Right. Well, this round - Geoffrey where are my reading glasses?”

“Round your neck!” shouted Mithian from the snug.

“Right. Right. All right. Well, now, where were we? Oh yes, of course.” Gaius beamed. “My favourite! West End Musicals!”

A heavy groan went round the room, but Arthur’s table remained silent. They all looked at Elyan, who winked and erected both thumbs.

“You got this?” whispered Arthur.

“You bet,” said Elyan, grinning.

*

“Which musical is based on a Charles Dickens novel? And for a bonus five points, who wrote the music for it?”

“Oliver. Lionel Bart.” wrote Elyan.

“No way. I’m sure it’s George Gershwin?” whispered Leon. Leaning forward, he scrubbed out the answer.

“Nope, it’s Lionel Bart,” whispered Elyan firmly, writing Lionel Bart again. “Do you doubt me?”

“No, but if there’s the slightest possibility it’s wrong, we’ll lose all our points!” Leon said earnestly. “And you don’t know what Morgana will make me do if we lose!”

“Really?” said Lancelot. He lifted his eyebrows. “Will it be so bad?”

“Well, perhaps not,” said Leon, “but after she won the bet we had on the Grand National, I couldn’t walk for two days, and I do know that she has bought a new set of leather restra—”

“Whoa! TMI!” said Arthur, shuddering. "That’s my sister you’re talking about!” He was happy for Leon and Morgana, he really was. But really, beneath those sand-coloured cardigans and that mild-mannered loyalty lurked hidden depths that he really didn’t need to know about. As for Morgana, well, the less he knew the better, really.

“No buts.” Elyan glared at them. “I insist. It’s Lionel Bart.”

“Maybe it’s better to leave it blank,” said Gwaine. “I mean…”

Arthur zoned them out as they bickered.

When he looked over to the other table, there was a lot of pen-sucking and head scratching going on over there, too. Merlin looked up at the same time, and caught his eye. Something shy in Merlin’s unguarded half-smile made his heart thud loudly in his chest. God. And he realised that he was smiling back, but somehow he didn’t mind about that. All that he minded was the soft light that fell on Merlin’s cheekbones and the haphazard way Merlin’s shaggy hair spilled out around his ears, and grazed his long, long, pale neck. And the way Merlin bit his bottom lip and released it so that it sprang out fuller, darker, fatter, with a perfect notch in the middle, God. Oh God. Oh God. Arthur drew in a shaky breath. Pull yourself together, man.

“...should decide.” Elyan was saying, and then there was silence, and Arthur realised everyone was looking at him.

“Captain?” said Lancelot.

“Mmm?” said Arthur. “Oh. Yeah. Well, Elyan’s the expert.”  
  
“Fuck. We’re all doomed. The captain’s cock-struck,” said Gwaine. “Anyway, I’m boiling.” He grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt.

“9.35,” said Lancelot, looking at his watch as Gwaine shrugged his t-shirt off. “Yes! I win! El, Leon, Arthur, you all owe me a tenner.”

“Fuck,” said Arthur, reaching for his wallet. “Fuckit, Gwaine, couldn’t you have waited another half an hour?”

“Bloody hell,” Leon said, leaning back on his chair with a resigned air as he reached into his cardigan pocket. “Lancelot’s a bloody psychic. That’s the third time in a row. I reckon they’re colluding.”

“What the fuck’s going on?” said Gwaine.  
  
“Sweepstake.” Elyan slapped his tenner onto the table in front of Lancelot. “Here you go, big guy. Now, go and get me a drink before I decide I don’t want you as a brother-in-law any more.”

*

“Congratulations,” said Merlin, later, and the warm expression in his eyes looked genuine as he shook Arthur’s hand.

“Thanks. Well, I can’t claim much credit. It was Elyan who won it for us, really,” said Arthur, nodding at his team, who were celebrating their victory with slightly off-key renditions of old Queen favourites.

“The shirtlessness thing, though, is it a fast-spreading virus or something?” said Merlin, with a mischievous tilt of his eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining, mind, I’m just wondering when I’m going to catch it.”

Sure enough, over on the next table, the lads were standing, topless, on the table, waving their shirts in the air, and singing “We are the Champions”. Even Elyan’s melodious tones couldn’t disguise the fact that poor old Lancelot was tone deaf, but it was a joyful noise.

Arthur hoped that no-one else had noticed that Leon changed the words to “I’m... getting a blow-job... to-ni-ight!”

“What? Oh! Shirtlessness? Definitely catching. Join us any time you like!” The very idea of Merlin and shirtlessness sent heat creeping up Arthur’s chest and throat. Close up, he could see how Merlin had filled out over the last few years. Merlin’s skin would still be white, of course, it would stain deep pink from Arthur’s fingerprints and mouth. The muscles of Merlin’s chest would swell nicely against his hands, and Merlin’s thighs and arse would be tight and hard as they flexed against his lips… wait. How had he gone from shirtlessness to the taste of Merlin’s skin? It must have been the beer.

“Arthur?”

“I mean!” Arthur bit his lip. “Oh, God! Sorry! But, well. It’s Gwaine’s fault really. He’s kind of compelling sometimes. And he challenged us. I mean, we couldn’t back down. Not after that.”

“Well, I can understand that.” Merlin laughed, a deep, appreciative chuckle, and his gaze dropped towards the floor for a moment, then moved slyly back up Arthur’s naked torso, hovering around his mouth for a suggestive moment, before meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Can’t say I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Arthur swallowed. He shouldn’t get carried away, like this. Because, well. Merlin clearly liked Gwaine, and it wasn’t his place to get in the way. But he’d like to clear the air, really he would. “Well, then!”

Grabbing Merlin’s elbow, he turned, drawing Merlin away from the middle of the room.

“Merlin,” he said in a low voice, looking round to check that they couldn’t be overheard. “I. Look, I’m not sure how to say this, but. Well. Would you— ? I mean. I’d very much like it if— Look. I know I fucked up, but I’d like to make amends. My father— my phone— and then, it was awful Merlin, you have no idea. But then eventually, by the time he came to accept— by then we’d sort of lost touch, and Gwen never mentioned— And then with poor father’s illness—”

He heaved a great sigh, gazing up at the heavens for inspiration, but his mind had gone blank and his mouth had gone dry, so he just licked his lips and prayed for a moment.

“Breathe, Arthur,” said Merlin, his own breath a cool breeze that made Arthur’s bare shoulder tense. The pub had gone much quieter, now, the racket had moved outside, and Merlin’s voice lowered as he spoke. “Look. I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt. It did. We had something good, didn’t we? And then— I don’t know, you just suddenly went silent. What the fuck, Arthur?”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur swallowed, to hide the miserable droop of his mouth. “Look, I’d like the chance to explain without this audience. Shall we go outs— ” He swept his hand across the room, realising as he did that it was now empty. “Wait, where did everyone go?”

The growing commotion from outside answered his question. A chorus of loud woofs filtered through the door, followed by a splash, and a sudden deafening cheer.

“Oh, no,” said Arthur, dread plunging into his belly. “What has that Irish buffoon done now?”

“I’m not sure,” said Merlin. He bit his lip. “Is it really imp— ”

Two more audible splashes, one louder than the other, were followed by more loud woofing, cheers and whoops.

Heart pounding, Arthur thundered down the steps and out onto the towpath outside, where sure enough Gwaine was splashing around, making a great din, with three happy canines describing doggy-paddle circles around him. An admiring and seemingly unconcerned audience stood bankside, laughing and cheering.

“You stupid Irish twat!” yelled Arthur, sprinting along the path. “Why do you do this? Why?”

“Help!” yelled Gwaine, head dipping under the water. “I can’t swim!”

“That’s the last time I’m buying you whisky! You blithering idiot,” groaned Arthur, pulling off his trainers and leaving them on the bank. Sitting on the water’s edge, he dangled his feet in and motioned to Elyan. “Hey, Els, pass me the ring would you? The twat can’t swim. And I’m not going in there again. That water’s dirtier than Gwaine’s mind.”

“What? We thought he was joking!” said Leon, looking a lot soberer all of a sudden. “Why did he accept the stupid bet?”

“I blame myself.” Arthur sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I bought him whisky. He can’t resist a bet when he’s been at the whisky...”

“Here, Arthur.” It was Merlin who stepped forward into the chaos with the buoyancy aid, in the end.

“Grab this, Gwaine.” Calmly, Arthur slid it across the surface of the water, to where Gwaine was still flailing about, all limbs splashing ineffectually. The canal was probably shallow enough to stand up in, here, but people still drowned in it. “Come on mate! You can do it. Just reach out there”

Finally, Gwaine’s hand met with the ring. He draped himself over it, and Arthur tugged at it until the ring, Gwaine and all, reached the bank.

“Come on mate,” he said, grabbing Gwaine under the armpits. He gave a great heave, until suddenly Gwaine’s clammy, wretched arse lay panting, in a pool of muddy water by the side of the canal. One by one, three alsatians followed, and shook water all over Arthur. He might as well have dived in, for all that he was covered in disgusting canal water.

“Ugh! You horrible mutts! Gerroff!” he said, shaking his head to fend off Mitsy’s over-friendly licks, until Gaius called the three dogs off with a muttered apology.

*

"I'm really sorry Gwaine had to go," said Arthur, quietly. Much later, when he was sitting next to Merlin by the sizzling pub fire, with Arthur swaddled in blankets, sipping hot mulled wine to chase away the chill. "But it is advisable to visit A & E when you've swallowed that much canal water."

"Put it down!" Far away across the room, Morgana was shrieking at Leon, and jumping up and down, trying to reach the cake box that he was holding over his head. Elyan and Gwen were cheering them on.

"Ah-ah!" said Leon. "Only after you've make good on your promise."

"Give. Me. The chocolate cake!" she screeched.

"It's okay," said Merlin, grinning and turning back to Arthur. "It's not like anyones getting any cake any time soon. And he'd probably had enough to drink, anyway. It was good of Elena to take him."

"Shame she didn't take everyone else as well."  Arthur winced at a particularly loud shriek. And, God. Merlin's smile was so infectious. Even though he knew he'd blown his chances years ago, Arthur couldn't help being warmed by it. "Still, with Morgana still entertaining everyone, maybe this moment gives me a chance to explain about what happened after that field trip. You see, my father found my— "

"Phone. It's okay," said Merlin again, his eyes twinkling. "I got the gist.

"You did?" Finding his mouth dropping inelegantly open, Arthur snapped it shut.

"Yeah!" Merlin chuckled. "Decoding emotionally constipated prats is my superpower."

"Cheeky bugger," said Arthur. He must be imagining things. Otherwise he'd think that there was an admiring expression in Merlin's eyes. Which didn’t make Arthur’s heart flutter at all, definitely not. It must be some hangover from the whole Gwaine-induced ordeal.

"Yeah. So. Tell me more about your superpowers, Superglutes," said Merlin, nudging him with a sharp elbow. "Or should I call you Hermione? But clearly, you don’t just rescue invertebrates. Vertebrates are also on the rescuing menu.”

“Vertebrates?” Arthur snorted. He took another sip of his mulled wine to hide his confusion, and then peeped back at Merlin to check whether the admiration was still there. It was. Warmth stole through him, from his chest up to his cheeks. Some effect of the mulled wine, no doubt. “I’m not sure Gwaine counts, as such. And anyway, m’not a girl!”

“I remember.” Merlin grinned. “So. As it happens, I’ve… I’ve got a spider in my bathtub. I’d like it very much if you wouldn’t mind coming to restore the balance of nature for me again.”

“That’s…” Arthur gaped, fishlike. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”

“Maybe!” Merlin cocked his head on one side, and _winked_.

“Oh!” Arthur regarded him with a happy grin for a moment. “Does this mean? Oh! Oh, God! That’s perfect. You’re perfect. I’d love to!” A swelling bud of happiness lodged behind his chest and threatened to burst out of him in a wave of smiles that would split his face in two. “Oh God, Merlin. I’m so sorry I never— “

“Luckily for you I find the dumb, tongue-tied, manly-chested, beefcake type horny.” Merlin’s lips, all rose-red by the warm light of the fire, quirked up at the corners, making Arthur’s heart beat madly.

“Beefcake?” Arthur protested. “I am not beefca— what, did you say manly?”

From the way that Merlin was still grinning at him, he realised too late that he’d been teased.

“Yeah,” said Merlin. A fondness softened his eyes. He cupped Arthur’s still-bare bicep with appreciative fingers. “Very. Manly.” His voice was a low purr that made Arthur’s pulse jump. “And you just called me perfect. So we’re even.”

“But I thought Gwaine— ” croaked Arthur, trying to make sense of things through a fog of what could only be termed manly hormones that were rapidly removing all higher functions from his brain and replacing them with something a whole lot more primitive.

“Oh, no. No, no.” said Merlin, shaking his head. “Not my type at all. Far too much. You know." He described a vague circle in the air with one hand. "Drama.”

“In that case,” Arthur leaned forward, until their faces were nearly touching. “Ronald Weasley. Shall we go and see about that spider?”

“Ooh, yes, Hermione, let’s!” said Merlin, tilting his head to one side. “That would be ex-Quiz-ite.”

And it would really be a public service, kissing Merlin, to stop him from making any more of those terrible puns.

So Arthur did.

And the rest, as they say, is kisstory.

*

THE END

*

**Author's Note:**

> A note for non-Brits on Gwaine's Frowny McFrownface joke that Merlin found so funny. You'll find everything you need to know about the origin of this completely silly British meme here: 
> 
> http://www.dailydot.com/lol/trainy-mctrainface-boaty-mcboatface-british-memes/


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